On My Knees
by LeaMichelle
Summary: Luke Skywalker: Age 7, insignificant boy, lives with an aunt and uncle on the far away planet of Tatooine, and is currently far far away from said planet, slaving away on the spice mines of Kessel.     He felt he had the right to say "Kriff," repeatedly
1. Chapter 1

On My Knees

Chapter One

"Your presence is soothing," –Anakin Skywalker

All he could see were colors, soft blues and purples and greens. The colors blended and faded together, pleasant and serene. All was quiet, peaceful. The soft waves of the ocean were calm, tranquil. A gentle breeze caressed the sea, cool and sweet. All was well, nothing was disturbed. This was how he liked it the best. Drifting along in his ocean of dreams without turmoil, without fears and doubts and memories. This was the state of sleep he rarely ever achieved. So rare in fact, he should have known, even subconsciously, that it wouldn't last.

His ocean began to take on subtle hints of darkness, the colors were less pleasing, less friendly. The breeze was getting stronger, and the waves more powerful. The colors were turning gray, bleak and hopeless. The calm ocean began to bubble, writhe and froth. The waves began tossing and turning roughly, vicious. The winds began howling, tearing apart the surface of the roiling black waters like claws. Everything was loud, deafening, waves crashed violently against each other. The spray of salt water was harsh and obtrusive. And in the distance, there was a voice. The small voice of a little boy, cutting across the madness that was Obi Wan's dreams.

"Father!"

Obi Wan's eyes flew open to the feel of his heart beating out of his chest, his breathing came out ragged and short, his body was covered in a thin film of cold sweat. There were a few precious seconds of disorientation before he rubbed his shadowed eyes and sat up in his bed. A sudden bout of panic seized him. Because like he did after every disturbed dream, he checked on Luke.

The boy's presence was shielded, but detectable, and only by Obi Wan. That subdued, but no less bright and warm presence in the Force. Except this time, he felt nothing. He had felt it, just a second ago, in his dreams, so powerful and obvious. But it had suddenly and without warning, been snuffed out. Like a candle flame.

And that could only mean two things. Either he was dead—or he was shielding his presence from him. He hoped furvently for the latter. The other option wasn't even a choice, it would destroy him. The boy had been his life for the past seven years, the one bright beacon in his otherwise miserable existence. He went to the boy every month. The boy with thick , shoulder length hair, bleached blonde by Tatooine's twin suns. The boy with the big, most startlingly intense blue eyes. The boy who was so slight and small.

The boy who looked eerily like Anakin.

Every time Obi Wan came, the little tyke was always doing something. Fixing or building machines. Playing with his toy ships. Doing chores—which was mostly the case. On these visits of his, he would go to the Lars homestead to give little Luke subtle lessons in the Force. It had been a hard battle for Obi Wan to win. Owen wanted nothing of it, didn't want the slightest hint of the Force anywhere near his nephew. But he had insisted and pushed and reasoned until the stubborn man had reluctantly relented. Because it was necessary. If Luke didn't learn to control, to shield and hide his abilities…

Then all would be loss, not the least his life.

The boy was remarkable—really, he shouldn't have been so surprised. After all, he was Anakin Skywalker's son. Obi wan had vowed to only teach him the bare essentials, only what he needed to survive. And yet Luke was bursting with potential. He was an obedient, intelligent learner. He caught on quickly to mind shielding, sensing danger, honing reflexes. He was unnaturally good at meditation—very unlike his father. And yet, that was all he could teach him. That… and the stories.

He did his best to tell him about his father, about the Jedi Order. He did his best to caution as much as he dared about the dark side. Ultimately, Obi Wan loved this little boy.

And Luke was not there.

Obi Wan took a deep, calming breath. It would not do to come charging into chaos with fear and panic clouding his mind. So he breathed deeply, gathered the Force around him like a cloak, and rushed out of his sand encrusted hobble.

Calmly, of course.

Luke tossed in his bed sleepily, having trouble drifting off. He couldn't fathom why he was having such issues, normally he could sleep anywhere, any time. Something kept niggling at the back of his mind, as if he had forgotten to do something, something highly important. Something he really should remember. But for the life of him, he couldn't think what.

All his toys were put away.

He took his sonic shower.

He had closed his window.

Luke jerked upright in his bed, sheets tangled around him, and stared wildly at the opposite wall.

No he hadn't.

Luke stared, numb for a moment. His room was on the side of the house facing relatively away from the wind, but even so, his curtains fluttered with the movement of air, and the tiny grains of the desert flitted into the room. The grains scattered, sparkled and whirled in the double moonlight, glittering like some kind of magic pixie dust. The moons were always bright. But Luke suddenly felt that the shadows all around him were longer, darker. Not even the bright moons, and the glittering dust could penetrate it. He didn't know what to do, what to think. He knew what an open window could mean. He knew, what could happen if you left them open at night.

Jawas could creep inand steal your stuff.

A sand creature—that one didn't much scare him.

You could freeze to death with the window open at night, the cold could seep in and take you in your sleep. The sand could bury you alive. Fortunately, neither of those events seemed to be occurring.

But there were worse things.

His mind seemed very good at inventing those unimaginable worse things. He peered about his room, never moving his head, just his eyes. He didn't know why, but he was scared to move too much, contrary to his restless sleep and obvious movements earlier. As if in stillness, he was safe. He tried to remember when the windo was open last. He often opened it during the day, in a vain attempt to cool his room. But Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru almost always came in to check that it was closed before bed. Sheesh, all the fuss about closing windows. But Owen had told him countless times that it was for his safety. He peered about himself cautiously.

Of course, he saw nothing in the darkness.

He thought about running to Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru's room. He hadn't done that in a while—three months?—they wouldn't mind. But he knew, in the morning, he would have to explain why he had felt the need to crawl into bed with them. They would want to know what had disturbed him. And then they would know that he had been careless enough to leave the window open, and then Uncle Owen would probably yell, and take his toy ship away. And at such a price, Luke had to wonder if the feeling of safety was worth it.

Safety.

Ship.

Safety…

Ship…

Hm…

Luke thought about it long and hard. Thinking about his delightful little toy ship made him feel better. Happy even. He was rather tempted to drag it out of the toy chest right this second. But he decided against it. He would close the window, go to sleep, and play with the ship in the morning. In the light.

And so he did just that. He flung the sheets back, and his little feet pitter pattered rapidly as he dashed across the room. He reached the windo, got on his tippy toes to reach the latch, and promptly shut it. He looked, for a minute, out the glass. It was strangely pretty. The twin moons bathed the desert sand in pale iredescent light, making the sand look like pure soft gray silk. He noted absently that there were dark clouds about to obscure the view. He turned and scurried back to his bed, snuggling under the sheets.

His eyelids were half closed when a hand came out of the darkness and clamped over his mouth.

Obi Wan couldn't believe his eyes.

How on earth was he slow enough to miss this?

He gaped, his heart plummeting to his stomach. The Lars homestead appeared over the rise of the sand dune, casting a ferocious fiery bright orange dance against the dark night sky. It was smoldering, dancing, collapsing in on itself, turning huge shapes to black lumps. It looked very recent. This fire only just reached its pinnacle. Perhaps there was something he could do. He moved forward, intent on running through the flames to find any survivors. But he stopped short.

The Force was telling him there was nobody alive in there.

He knew this as surely as he knew Anakin hated coffee.

There were no signs of life in the Force. Beru… Owen… were gone. Permenantly. But he knew Luke wasn't. He didn't know how he knew. He just felt that he would know if the son of Anakin was truly dead. Feel him go, like he had felt Qui Gonn go, the way he had slipped into the endless Force. Until he knew for certain, it was not possible.

He peered around him, desperate for a form of distraction. There were footprints in the sand, he noted, traveling around the house towards the East. He stared at the heavy footprints. Prints of men, come to take Luke away, and kill his Aunt and Uncle. Men that Obi Wan was very tempted to inflict severe bodily harm to.

The wind picked up, blowing sand about carelessly into the frigid night air. Obi Wan's heart immediantly went cold. With the wind, the footprints would fade. And along with it, a chance to save Luke. He noted, at the very least, that the prints were going East.

Obi Wan lifted his eyes to the house being eaten before him, almost merrily. The heat seemed to scorch his skin. The wind was blowing the fumes from the fire, making smoke curl up in wisps and promptly being carried away. The fire kept lapping at the small modest structure, consuming, devouring. It would run itself out to the ground before morning, nothing but charred ruins of lives.

Obi Wan suddenly laughed humorlessly.

"Father… he meant Anakin."

And that realization was painful, because Luke could be going to him right now, so innocent. So defenseless and unsuspecting—the perfect victim. Except not really, not really to Anakin. No, to something much worse. And he had to remember that, and he had to do everything in his power to get Luke back, at every cost to his own. He closed his eyes briefly against the despair. He was not a young man, and he had not used the Force to its full draining compacity in a long time.

But he would do it. For luke.

For Anakin, wherever he was.

Luke came to with the realization that he couldn't open his eyes. They felt ridiculously heavy, they were bags of sand instead of flaps of flimsy skin tissue. He scrunched up his brow during the effort, making a crack split across it. He was quite certain that his head had literally split somewhere down the middle, there was no other explanation for such extreme agony. White hot pain lanced through him, his entire body was sore, and his throat suddenly felt tight and parched. He opened his mouth, and let out a pathetic croaked squeak. He meant to ask someone for water, he really did, but for some reason water was not the word that came out. To be frank, words weren't coming out at all. And he had a nagging suspicion that he wasn't going to get anything if he didn't open his eyes and locate water—or a person for that matter.

And with an unreasonable amount of effort, he managed it. Well, the part about opening his eyes, anyway. And the first thing he noticed was the dark. It was dark in here, wherever here was. And it was silent. He struggled to sit up and look around. It took several moments of blinking and squinting for him to make out his surroundings. It was a small room, lit only by a flickering candle in the corner. And much to his astonishment, there were children all around him. Some of them weren't even human. And most of them looked no older than twelve. They were all huddled on the floor, clothes ragged and dirty, eyes dark. Silent. Some were sleeping, some were awake, watching. Luke wanted to speak, wanted to ask what was going on, wanted to clear up this confusion. But he couldn't, he felt like he couldn't dare break this oppressive, suffocating silence. Like something would happen if he did. At first he thought he must be dreaming, and so he wasn't scared.

Huh.

Yep, weird dream.

He kept his mouth shut and waited. And waited… He tried to think, to remember. The last thing he remembered was being in his room on the farm.

Wait.

And there was a hand. And there was a feeling of intense danger about to happen, a knowledge that something permanent and unstoppable was about to occur, so strong and screaming through every fiber of his body. After that, a pain, and blackness.

Needless to say, now he was terrified and didn't know what to do. He slowly brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his small arms around them, hugging himself close. He noticed with a start that many of the other children were doing exactly the same thing. He looked at their faces, trying to make eye contact. They all looked away. He didn't recognize anyone. All their faces were obscured in shadows. He felt tears welling up in his eyes as the terror, uncertainty and pain began to overwhelm him. Hunger and thirst were creeping in fast as well, and the tears were coming. Even more children looked away from him, if possible.

It had hit him like a sand storm—this was no dream.

Luke whipped his head around as there was a sound, the singular noise cracking the air with its loudness like a whip. A small door open on the opposite wall, perfectly in his view.

"Get up!"

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, it is the sole property of the amazing, the wonderful, the marvelous—George Lucus! (loud applause follows this statement,) But I have an imaginary Darth Vader plushie that I like to squeeze in moments of anger and in times where comfort is needed.

A/N: Need beta, need beta! Volunteers? Also, I already have the next chapter halfway written, expect an update soon., I really need a beta because I don't know how to spell things in the star wars universe—like the name of creatures. Twi'leck—Twi'leek—whaaaat? And I know this chapter probably has glaring mistakes that I'll discover later, when I'm reading back over it for inspiration. *sighs*

Tootles.


	2. Chapter Two

On My Knees

Chapter Two

"Always in motion is the future." –Master Yoda

Vader felt his eyes snap open, they saw sightlessly into the red haze that was constantly his vision—the world tinted in red due to his mask. He was so shocked he barely noticed. He had been meditating like he always did before sleep, when the most startling thing to ever occur just happened. Eh, perhaps not the very most startling—or was it? After all, nothing so preposterous had ever entered his meditations. For one brief moment, he had felt something. And had heard something. A bright, almost blinding presence had overwhelmed him, filled with such fear and panic and utter turmoil—it took his breath away. The situation was only made worse by one single word: Father. It had been shouted at him, loud and clear, no possible way to mistake it for any other word. Father. And needless to say, it had shaken him. The entire experience had lasted only for a moment, a second.

And now he sat there, in his oxygen enriched office where he relaxed, frozen. Doing nothing, his mind was blank. Suddenly, as if kicked into high gear, the organ began to whirl. Father, Father—who in the Galaxy would address him so? And better yet, who could have sent such a blinding Force presence his way? The implications trickled into his mind slowly, reluctantly. When the full idea of what this all could mean hit, he scrambled almost desperately into the Force for any lingering remains for that contact. That contact that somehow felt familiar.

There was nothing, nothing at all.

Father.

It shook him to the core. Was the Force telling him something? But it wasn't possible. He himself had ruined any and all chances he might have had of that former life, the one that had a child in it. The one with Padme in it. He felt a wave of unbearable pain grip his chest, and then he was furious. He had killed them all, every last one of those corrupt single minded fools—there was no one left. Except one. In his mind, this could only be the results of one person who had power and motive enough to do this.

Obi Wan Kenobi.

The name filled him with such loathing, with such fury, along with a flurry of other emotions. The sting of betrayal. Pain. Others he could not name so easily. This had to be Obi Wan, the man was trying to torment him, trying to mock him. How else could he explain a vision that so obviously had to be fake, a vision—or was it just a feeling?—that would rattle him so much? Was it suppose to be a reminder, of the past and future crimes he had commited? Was it suppose to scare him, fill him with regret, make him weak? Well it wouldn't work. If anything, this had only made him more angry, more determined to hunt the elusive Jedi down and cut him limb to limb. Like Obi Wan had done to him.

He sat there for a long while, brooding and simmering in his anger. And though he skittered away from the thought and wouldn't admit it, even to himself, disappointment. He would not, could not allow himself to think, to hope that this could be something else. It briefly occurred to him that this could be the work of Palpatine, trying to test him, but that thought was dismissed almost immediantly. Palpatine had encouraged thoughts of Obi Wan's betrayal, told him to embrace the anger of losing his wife and child. What purpose could it serve now? He had come to terms with it, he had accepted his past.

Right?

XXXXX

So this was where he was now.

Wherever here was, he sure didn't know.

It wasn't home. It wasn't Mos Eisley, it wasn't even Tatooine, it was a different planet all together, and he didn't even know how he had gotten here. Their keepers were fond of ejecting fluids into their bloodstream that would promptly knock them out. Luke didn't understand at first how they were going about this without his knowledge. A kid who was a few years older than him had kindly explained it to him—a chip. A chip, not the yummy kind, the computer kind—had been implanted somewhere, somehow, in his body. This little chip was his life now, apparently. This chip could blow him up, or electrocute him, or apparently, put him to sleep. Luke had spent hours in the dark going over every square inch of himself, trying to find this mysterious chip. And when he found this so called chip, he was going to rip it out. He didn't care how much it hurt. Because if he got rid of the chip, then he could run away. And when he ran away, he could go back home, to Owen and Beru and Obi Wan. He wondered if they were looking for him. He couldn't imagine them not looking, and he knew he would be found. Because Owen was—well, Owen, and Obi Wan was a Jedi.

Ahhh…

Yep.

Any day Now.

Never mind the fact that a whole two weeks had already gone by. Never mind that he had left the planet altogether. Never mind that he hadn't showered in that long, or slept somewhere that wasn't cold and hard. Never mind that he was always hungry and thirsty. Never mind that he was scared out of his mind. That first day, all of the children had been lead out of that room, one by one, no one came back. Finally Luke was hauled up by his shirt and dragged out. He was attached to several other children by a length of chain. It was heavy and made his wrist bleed. Luke didn't remember much of where they went. He remembered Jabba, however. The… thing, was vile. Thick and slimey and long, like a fat snake. He had a large mouth, a flickering tongue, and some pointy little teeth that looked sharp, and vaguely threatening. He smelled and was dirty—everything smelled here. And everyone hhere spoke Huttese. He knew a little, you couldn't live on Tatooine without knowing some, but he didn't understand a lot of the time. By the time the end of the week came he understood more, not that it mattered. . For that week, they didn't do much.

Most of the time they were all thrown together in a small dank room that was cold, where they tried to sleep. Where they waited endlessly, hour upon hour, day upon day, and no one spoke. He despised it, he hated being alone, he hated being crushed in by the suffocating darkness and silence on all sides. He was fairly certain he had gone crazy by this time. Sometimes, they were let out, to do strange things he didn't understand. Things that seemed pointless. They cleaned and served food and drinks, they put machines together. This at least, was something he could do. He would always wonder where and how they got all of these droid parts, and what they were being used for. All he knew was that he could do this, and if he did enough, he would get food. He didn't pay much attention to his surroundings, the other children he was with, he didn't really take anything in. Life at the moment was being lived in a dazed state, where he wasn't sure if he was living at all. He felt numb, like he was stuck in limbo, waiting, waiting for something to happen. By the end of the first week, he'd learned several sentences of Huttese that mainly included various insults and shouted demands from their… keepers, for a lack of a better word. He found himself cussing more and more, it wasn't like anyone was going to scold him for that. No, they scolded him for being too slow, for not focusing on his work, for dripping blood from his wrist onto the floor. It's not like they were always chained, but they were often enough for him to have constant cuts. Most of the time the threat of being blown to smithereens was enough to keep the kids in line. Like now, for example.

All Luke could tell at the moment was that it was evening on whatever planet this was. He was standing by a cart filled with something Luke didn't care enough to find out, with a mean faced Rodian, three human boys, and two other species of children Luke couldn't identify. They weren't chained at the moment because they were on a planet with men in white armor wandering about here and there. Their keepers had told them in no uncertain terms that they were not to look, speak, or think about these white armored people. And if anyone asked, they were orphanages going to a new home, and the keepers were very, very kind to them. They were also told that if they kriffed up any of these very, very simple directions, they would press the button, and be electrocuted. But not blown up—there was a first. Luke could only assume they wanted them in one piece for wherever they were going.

They left Tatooine yesterday, the line of children marching single file through the sands under the scorching Tatooine suns. For a brief period of time, Luke had felt better. He was chained, sleepy, forced to walk, and very, very thirsty—but he was out in the suns again, not trapped in darkness and cold. He never thought he could say it was cold anywhere on Tatooine, but clearly if you went deep enough, he could be wrong. They went to Mos Eisley and promptly borded a ship. On any normal occasion, like say, with Beru or Owen or Obi Wan, Luke might have been estatic at the thought of flying on a space ship for the very first time. On this occasion however, he could only muster mild curiosity. He was leaving the planet he called home his entire life, if he hadn't left his family before, he was definitely leaving them now. And if they hadn't found him while he was on Tatooine… what were the chances they would be able to find him now? Luke was old enough to know the galaxy was quite large, and it could take them years, if not ever, for anyone to find him. Would Biggs miss him? He really wished he had a friend here. He glanced around, nervous. He couldn't make friends here. He couldn't speak any language but Basic—and a bit of Huttese. Not to mention, the Keepers were quick to punish socializing of any kind. Luke thought desperately, not for the first time, that he could run away. And now would be his last chance. Once he got to wherever, he was positive he would be locked away again, in another dank musty room. And really, the only problem was the stangable chip. If he could just figure out where the kriff this chip was… But he didn't know, and he wouldn't find out anytime soon. Luke almost wondered if it would be better just to die here anyway. At least he would die outside. Then again, he would only get shocked, not blown. Maybe he could find someone to take it off before the Keepers even knew he was gone, if he played his cards right. But Luke had no cards. He would just have to invent some, what's the worst that could happen? Luke decided not to answer that.

An epiphany struck him.

Well actually, it wasn't a very original or clever idea, plenty of kids used it at home or in school, but it was the best his very nervous seven year old mind could come up with. Now he just had to figure out how to say the words in a language his Keepers could understand, and not irritate them too much. Yeah, sounded really doable to him. He wandered cautiously towards one of the Keepers, and tried to get his attention.

"Chubba waz peda—pedasku… "

Holy hell, what the Kriff was he even saying?—

"Keba sheik chubba?"

Kriff.

The keeper looked at him strangely, as if not quite sure what to make of him. Luke tried again, this time swiping his forhead to wipe away the very real sweat forming there, and he grabbed his middle and doubled over. Inspiration struck him again, and he preceded to gag the most terrible sounding gag he could muster. His performance must have been alarmingly adequate, because suddenly the keeper waved frantically in his face, gesturing towards a side alley nestled between two structures. He then shot a scolding look at him and held up four fingers, then five. Luke pretended to understand and hurried away to the indicated point. He glanced quickly around him—not much to see. A dark alley which he rushed down, heedless of being quiet. He turned a corner, then went straight, left, right, right, another corner—dead end. He turned around, made a loop, and ran for all he was worth. He didn't know where he was going, and Luke was ashamed to admit he didn't have a plan much further than getting as far away as possible. By the time he remembered that he planned to ask for help, planned to find someone to locate and remove his chip, his legs were burning and his sides were splitting. He slowed down and took a moment to eye his surroundings again. It looked like some sort of residential area, little stone houses about every fifty feet, with plenty of trees. The trees were brown and purple, but Luke decided not to question this. The sky was green here after all, and the stars were yellow—indeed, best not question anything. It occurred to him that maybe he should hide a little more, what if they were looking for him already? What would happen if he went too far, would the chip cease to affect him? Intrigued by this thought, he ventured further down the row of houses, cutting through backyards this time, just in case. He noticed that the houses were getting further and further apart, and the trees thicker and thicker. He wondered if maybe he could survive in those trees for a while, just until he made sure the Keepers were gone. His luck seemed pretty good so far, no shocks, no shouting or pounding footsteps behind him. In fact it was fairly peaceful.

He thought too soon.

"What you doin?"

Luke whipped around, and was startled to see a little girl sitting in the wheat colored plant that was obviously native to this planet not three meters in front of him. He stared at her. She stared curiously back. She had short red hair cut in a bob, inquiring green eyes, and was one of the smallest kids he had ever seen. She must have been very young. She was playing with some kind of toy.

"What doing?" She asked again, more insistently this time. Her voice was high pitched and very adorable, like most little kids. It didn't really occur to him that he was a kid as well. She stared at him hard, as if daring him to lie to her. Er, what was he doing? He had to admit he must look very suspicious traipsing about the edge of the trees and cutting through her backyard. And it wasn't like he could tell her—what if she blabbed to someone who could get him in trouble? So he blurted the first thing that came to mind.

"What are you playing with?"

She blinked at him and held the object up in her hands for him to see. It was a little plastic ship, not as great as the one he had at home, and a lot smaller, but it surprised him all the same. Weren't girls suppose to play with dolls or something? And then right before his very eyes, the ship floated a few centimeters off her hand.

"What was that?" He blurted again without thinking.

"Wha?" She exclaimed before closing her hands over the toy and snatching it out of sight, cradling it to her chest. She glared mistrustfully at him. "Ship. Dummy."

Luke sighed, exasperated, before thinking about the situation. Why was he getting into really weird, really ridiculous situations all the time? Did he just imagine that? Or had a girl years younger than him just used the Force? A part of him was insanely jealous. He hadn't learned to do that. Obi Wan kept saying he would teach him later… later… there would be no later. At the reminder of his predicament, he snapped back to his senses. If this girl could use the Force, then maybe her parents were Jedi. And if her parents were Jedi—like his Father—then surely they could help him.

"Hey, where are your parents, inside?" He glanced towards the house. In fact, why weren't they out here? Was it wise to leave her out here alone?

"Gone," the little girl atoned somberly, "Message?"

"Huh?"

"Message," she said patiently, as if explaining to a very dim witted child.

" …Message?" What was she, a complink machine?

"Message!" she shouted, looking furious. Luke was so shocked at the sudden loud outburst, he didn't know what to say. "Gone long time," she added softly, tucking in her chin to her chest and looking down. "Morning."

"Morning?" He was beginning to feel like all he could do was mimick her words back. And he was also wondering if he had just gotten himself into yet another situation. She nodded, and for a moment neither of them said nothing. Her parents have been gone since morning, and the green sky was getting increasingly darker, falling into the night. The yellow stars were getting brighter, winking and glittering at them from above, completely oblivious to what was going on below. But maybe this was nothing new. Maybe her parents thought they would be back sooner, and were calling in some kind of babysitter as they spoke. Maybe. But something told him they wouldn't leave a little girl alone for so long—he knew Aunt Beru wouldn't have. And suddenly Luke felt very old and tired. He really couldn't afford to worry about someone else right now, he could barely take care of himself. And on the heels of that thought, a sudden intense feeling of danger swept over him, like somewhere inside him a flip had been switched. He had only ever felt this feeling once before, right before he got taken away. The girl's head shot up, as if she too had just gotten the exact same feeling. He fleetingly wondered why situations always came so quickly, one after the other. Being kidnapped, trying to run away, strange planets and strange children who may or may not be able to use the Force, and danger everywhere, apparently.

"Hands up, come quietly."

Yep, definitely in another situation.

Luke slowly pivoted on his heel to face the speaker with the cold detached voice, adrenaline suddenly pumping through his system. One of the white armored men he had seen swarming about the place earlier was standing behind him in the trees, a blaster aimed their way. Luke himself was barely a meter out of said trees, and he wondered why he hadn't noticed anything sooner. Had he been followed, were they here for him? He got the answer when the man slowly shifted his blaster towards the girl, who was still sitting in the wheat colored grass. But he directed his comment towards Luke when he spoke again, "Get her up and bring her over here, refusal to comply will not be tolerated. She is wanted by the Empire."

Wanted by the Empire.

The words sent a chill through him. What would the Empire want with her, what could she have possibly done? And then it all made sense. The reason why her parents weren't home. The Force Luke was sure she had used earlier. Hadn't Obi Wan told him constantly about how the Jedi were hunted down, destroyed, one by one from the Empire? Wasn't that the entire point as to why he had been given some training, so he could shield his own Force potential? Wasn't it the very reason why he had no father, no mother? And Luke knew he had to say something, to do something, they were going to take her away, kill her without a second thought. The entire event seemed very surreal. Was he even truly here? Maybe this was his after life—if so, it sucked big time.

"She can't possibly be the one you're looking for," Luke spoke out shakily, alarmed about how weak his voice sounded. "She's only two." She was two or something, wasn't she? The man was looking at him now, eyebrow raised. Yeah, good, keep his attention on him. Yeah. "I'm sure it's just some misunderstanding or something, her parents should be coming home soon." Kriff, kriff, he did not just say that—he did not just alert this clearly hostile man to the fact that they were utterly alone and without help. This was not a good thinking day for Luke Skywalker.

"No, actually they won't be," White Armor said cooly, still aiming his blaster at the girl, "Her parents were brought in for questioning earlier."He then looked sharply at Luke, making him sweat bullets when the blaster was suddenly swung around to point at him. "In fact, who exactly are you?"

"Her brother," He heard himself blurt out, and he could have hit himself over the head with a skillet. Yeah, gonna shut up now, his mouth was clearly not helping. This was confirmed when the man curled his lip in a sneer and stepped towards him with the very, very threatening blaster. His mind did manage to register, through the bout of increased panic, that this meant Little Girl was currently out of the line of fire. He had no idea what in the Nine Hells overcame him, but suddenly he was throwing himself forward lunging for said blaster. The man gave a shout and squeezed off a shot, narrowly missing Luke's ear.

"Run!" he screamed at her, "Run right now, Go!"

She bolted from the ground and began to run, she was remarkablly fast for someone so small and Luke had a brief flare of hope that she might get away. His own situation at the moment did not look so promising. He had managed to get himself in a headlock that was proving very tricky to get out of. "Look here boy," the man snarled into his ear, "I know you're not her brother. All we want is her, so give up this noble act that you know nothing about, and we'll have no trouble."Luke decided it would be appropriate to struggle harder, and try to bite him in the meantime. "Kriffing brat," he spat as he threw Luke hard to the ground. The blaster was then swung his way, and there was a burst of red light that filled his vision before his mind could even register what was happening. Luke shouted as a blaster bolt shot through his hand and scorched the grass underneath it. "This should keep you busy, eh?"

He couldn't believe it, he was in shock. He had just been shot through the hand—the hand!—which he definitely, definitely needed—and he didn't know what to do. Through the unbearable pain Luke could hear screaming. The girl—the girl—Luke struggled to think, to collect his thoughts—the girl was in trouble. The man was running away from him, presumably to assist in capturing her, and Luke struggled to his feet. His hand was burning, a fire was igniting his skin, hot white pinpricks of pain shot up his arm, but he shoved the feeling away, desperate to help, to do something, he couldn't live with himself otherwise. The screaming was getting further away, so Luke started running. He ran through the trees, cursing them for having so many snagging branches, and cursing the night for being so dark. Night, when had it become night? Or was it just him? His mind was foggy, he felt like he was swimming—and then he could see her. She was being held by three men in white armor, and the little person was screaming and kicking for all she was worth, to no avail. They held her fast in their grip, laughing even at her struggles. Luke was so furious, without thinking he picked something up, and chucked it at them as he fought to catch his breath. Catch his breath—when was he out of it? He heard a satisfying clunk and a shout as it impacted with something. The it just so happened to be a rock.

"Leave her, alone," he panted out between gritted teeth. Was that blood?

There was the sound of mumbling over the girl's voice that had died down into a frightened whimper. Luke couldn't make out what they were saying. Then he heard the unmistakeable voice of the man who had started all of this, "Leave him be. He can barely stand. He can't give us any trouble." More mumbling. Then a raucous laugh, "No no, really. He's a slave, don't you recognize the wrist cuts?"

For the second time in so many minutes, Luke felt inexplicable rage fill him. He was not, he was not just a slave boy. He was a person, damn it, and his name was Luke Skywalker. He lifted his head and glared as ferociously as he could under the circumstances, and took a step forward, fury mounting with every step. He would show them just how much kriffing trouble he could be, stang it, and he would show them—

And then the unthinkable happened.

A shock went through him, mini explosions ran up every nerv and vein in his body, stars boomed into existence in his eyes. Every pore, every fiber twitched and spasmed in agony, in searing pain, and whoever was screaming really wasn't helping his head which was close to bursting. He clutched his hair, he suddenly felt his knees digging into his chest, and he realized that the screaming was him. In the very, very back of his mind he knew what was happening. He was being electrocuted, from Force only knows how far away, by one of the Keepers. The only way Luke could think to stop this unimaginable torment was to go back, to run back, to grab the source and smash it into indistinguishable shraps of metal. Right, now, right this very second, and he could feel his feet stumbling along grass, along the flat street, he could feel his legs churning as fast as they could go. And then before he knew it, he was barely even aware of strong hands grasping him on the shoulders and shaking him, because his legs were jelly and he was sinking to the ground in relief. His entire body felt like goo, and he was covered in sweat. Nausea was fast crawling up his stomach and the hands shoved him roughly away as he puked uncontrollably all over. He faintly heard something that sounded suspiciously like, "Said he was sick," in Huttese, before his world went black.

**XXXX**

**A/N: Heh, did any of you think this chapter sounded kind of rushed? I read back over it, and it just seemed like I popped scene after scene of drama in there nonstop, without any transition. Should I be writing more descriptively, for breathing room if nothing else? I also think my chapters are alarmingly short, but I dunno. Ah, anyway, tell me what you think!**

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**Michelle Erika:**

** You would have played with the toy ship? Haha, a toy ship would be awesome I admit. Hm, I wonder how that whole kidnapping scene would have gone if Luke just played with his ship right then and there. **

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Haha, thank you, I hope you keep reading, and reviewing.

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	3. Chapter 3

On MyKnees

"Wonderful the mind of a child is." –Master Yoda

Un-betaed, I'm warning you! And I'm sorry this took so long, and that it's so short, but I got a virus. And then I got a writers block—but not for the next chapter! I just wanted to get this out now.

Chapter Three

" …you were like a brother to me."

The words faded away, and Luke couldn't quite grasp on to their meaning, but he knew he was angry. So, so very angry. It burned inside him hot and deep and it consumed him, the fury had to be unleashed.

"Don't try it."

The fury built inside him impossibly more so, it was bubbling and roaring at the very pit of himself. And from his own lips spilled words he couldn't understand. " …die!"

Everything was hot, the air was hard to breathe. It kept filtering through his lungs, making him want to choke, making him want to wheeze and cough. At the same time his legs were moving, leaping and running and sliding, shifting and pacing. His arms moved accordingly to the movements of his feet—block, strike, parry. His vision was filled with a fiery orange glow obscured every few minutes with a wave of dark ash, before it blew away almost lazily into rising steam. His feet shifted again, as though on its own accord, firm footing, and then a leap. Suddenly there was pain—no agony, and the ground beneath his feet seemed to crunch and crumble away, the heat and the bright orange light became blinding and unbearable in their intensity.

And then there was screaming, tons and tons of screaming that ripped from his throat, making it feel scratchy and raw. No one heard him, there was no help for him, there was never going to be any relief from this searing soul shattering agony… His body was shaking violently, he could feel it along with another voice shouting in his ear.

"**Gfersh!" **

** His eyes flew open wide in panic as the voice finally registered, and the shaking of his shoulders promptly ceased. He exhaled sharply, his brain still on haywire and his body full of adrenaline. His sight swam blearily in the dim light until they focused on a face looming over him. **

"**Jactna," the mean faced Rodian sneered down at him. He gave Luke a final shove before he moved away, mumbling under his breath what Luke was sure was some kind of profanity. He just lay wherever he was for a moment, processing. He felt kind of dazed and very unsure who and where he was. He felt tired, very tired, but he also felt tight and tense, as though he was expecting an attack at any second. But clearly there was no danger if he was sleeping. He forced himself to relax, to loosen the muscles in his arms and legs, to slow down his ragged breathing. That was… a very confusing and rather frightening dream. And it had to be a dream because he saw no fierce orange lights eminating intense heat, he could breathe fine now, he couldn't smell anything burning, and the only voices he heard were soft hushed mumblings. He did feel pain however. He wrenched himself upwards into a sitting position from where he had been laying in a corner on the floor. His eyes immediantly zoomed onto the source of his discomfort, where he stared for a moment in bewildered fascination—his left hand. Wrapped around it was a dirty piece of cloth which obscured his view from what was obviously a serious injury if the pain was any indicator. The pain didn't seem to bother him for some reason, didn't seem to reach him. It was as if he was looking and feeling from another person's point of view, even though it made no sense. He began mindlessly unwrapping the strip of dirty cloth, figuring that he might as well see the damage and get rid of this cloth—it couldn't possibly be helping, it might even infect him. He winced when he got to the final layer which he ripped off in his haste. The cloth came away with several pieces of his skin, or what should have been skin. He made his fingers uncurl themselves (which was very challenging, as if they had been frozen that way for a while,) and his stomach plummeted to his toes. It was… ghastly. In the middle of his palm was a circle of burned marred flesh. The skin was puckered and swollen into tight pus filled blisters, flaming red with bits and pieces hanging on by mere threads. It looked bad, really bad, and it was even worse when he tried to flex his hand. The inside of his palm felt like melted gushy goo, and it freaked him out. He turned his palm over, and sure enough the exact same sight on both sides of his hand. Big red blistering circle. It hurt to move it in any way, which was not a good thing—he needed his hand! He was struck again by the dream. It was fire, fire fire it had managed to burn him. The thought was so surreal, how did it burn him? Suddenly upon looking at it, memories came rushing back to him. And he came to the horrible conclusion that he deserved this. **

** He had left her. He had left a poor frightened two year old child in the clutches of the Empire, and by now she was surely dead. All because of him. He could have done something, he knew he could have, but he hadn't. Instead he had run off and left her. Surely he could have endured being shocked in order to help her. He could have done anything, thrown something to get her released, he could have fought, he could have said he was a Force user too, that would have gotten their attention away from her for a moment, if nothing else. Instead of doing any of these things he had ran away because he was a wimp and couldn't handle being shocked for five minutes. And now there was a dead child somewhere, all because of Luke Skywalker. He forced his injured hand into a tight fist, welcoming the pain and feeling disgusted with himself. He sat that way loathing everything about life at the moment, until the ship gave a small lurch, and Luke could tell from the sound of the engines that they were about to exit hyperspace. Which meant he would be at his final destination very, very soon. **

**He got clumsily to his feet, still thinking about fire and little girls, hoping to find some kind of window. How had the Rodian known to wake him up anyway? Come to think of it, who had decided to wrap up his hand? It was a nice gesture, if not exactly sanitary. Luke was disappointed to discover there were no windows. This meant he would have no idea, none, on where he might be living for Force knows how long. He supposed he would find out eventually. And all he could do now was wonder, and try not to think too hard about what he would be doing. Or how final everything now felt. He had a sinking feeling that he was in deep bantha poodoo, and it was starting to register that he was most likely never getting out of it. His life would never go back to its original simplicity. No more baking with Aunt Beru. No more tinkering with droids and vaporators with Uncle Owen. No more mindless playing in the sands in front of his house, or with his toys in his room. No more Force lessons and interesting conversations with Obi Wan. No more space pilots with Biggs Darklighter. No more school. There would be no warm suns and cool blankets, no gentle caresses or anyone to care. He was utterly, completely alone. It all hit him, all the things he hadn't allowed himself to think about before now, it was all flooding his mind, crushing his chest and blocking his throat. He felt the incredible urge to cry and throw a tantrum. And much to his horror he felt wetness trailing down his cheeks. **

** He curled up on the floor into a ball, knees tucked to his chest with both injured and normal hands clutched into a tight fist. He bit down on his lower lip in an attempt to be quiet, in a vain attempt not to show the other children how he was currently losing it. His chest was rising and falling in jerky spasms, gasps and shudders, the tears kept coming along with the turmoil of his emotions, and he was powerless to stop it. It dimly crossed his mind that he needed to get himself together, they would be getting off the ship soon and were expected to be waiting in an orderly line so they could be neatly chained together and lead away. But that thought was fleeting at best. Maybe he would die, and it really wouldn't matter. He couldn't imagine what he was going to be forced to do when he got off—if he got off—but it could only at the very least be similar to working at Jabba's palace. Luke did not want to admit it, he didn't want the dawning comprehension of his predicament that he had always known but never let in—He was a slave. A slave with a chip who could be controlled, who had no rights. He didn't feel like a person, he didn't feel like he was seven. He couldn't fathom why this was all happening to him. Dreams of fire and getting burned. The guilt of not saving someone. The terror for himself. It was overwhelming. It seems that someone didn't want Luke to suffer more than necessary—even though he didn't show it very well—because Luke could feel the Rodian toeing his ribs and snarling at him. Luke was pretty certain he wanted him to get up and cooperate. When Luke refused to move he heard another loud "Gfersh!" He was then roughly grabbed around the shoulders and clumsily hauled upwards. The alien refused to look at him as he pushed Luke into the general direction of the other children who were already in a line. These children also looked away, but not before Luke glimpsed looks of pity and similar despair through his tears. He gave one last quiet shuddering gasp as he stumbled into line, frantically wiping at his face with the front of his ratty shirt. Still his pajama shirt. He wondered if he would get different clothes. He decided he really didn't care. **

** The very first thing Luke thought about Kessel was… glum. It was a chunk of rock, a kriffing asteroid. There were hills and mountains of rocks and caves everywhere, but little—next to no oxygen. The skies were gray and overcast, it's one sun was a sickly white glow, and the days were 26 standard hours, after that there would be only pitch blackness. It was cold, no freezing, constantly, all the time. The only reason any life could be sustained here was thanks to the oxygen generators that were placed strategically everywhere. There were still places you couldn't go without a special thermol suit—something Luke was going to be very familiar with. And why, if you might ask, does anyone think it's worth oxygen machines to live in this fabulous place? **

**The answer is glitterstim. **

** For the next five years of his life, Luke was going to find out more about Glitterstim than he ever wanted to know. Glitterstim was some kind of raw crystalline material that came in thin sharp grains of sticky sand. It could come in various colors, and types, depending on which spider you got the Ryll from. But Ryll was something rare and more special—most of your average spice is just Glitterstim. And what, may you ask, is Glitterstim? Glitterstim is this illegal substance (made of the fine crystals, which are produced by the spiders,) that can be used for increased brain activity, insight, and euphoria. So why do they not destroy the planet that is useless and possesses something like illegal drugs? Because the rare version—Glitterryll—can make miracles happen. Mentally and physically, apparently. It's not all illegal—it can be used for medicine and foods. But Luke felt his life was centered more around the illegal, unjust part of it all. It was a drug that fucked with your head, that's all he knew. **

** Oh, and hahaha!—Did he forget to mention? All of this spice and Glitteryll is mined up by prisoners. By slaves. The people who had to wear oxygen suits in the mines. The person who was in danger of getting their life energy sucked away or caved in on. The people who get no food, and cruel treatment. And he was going to be in the middle of it—the kriffing, kriffing middle—**

**Luke Skywalker felt he had the right to say "Kriff," repeatedly. **

**XXXXX **

It felt like there was a ball of lead in his stomach, and it was clawing at him from the inside out. It was a terrible burning and itching sensation that always filled him with dread. He couldn't get rid of it, and the more he thought about it the worst it got. The fear. The fear of being afraid, the fear of what he could become. Fear of the rage and lack of control. Fear of losing everything. He didn't understand it, he didn't know why he couldn't control his emotions, he knew why he was afraid, but he didn't know why it was affecting him so much. Or maybe he did know. No one could possibly understand how he was feeling, how desperate he was, how it ate at him every day, every hour and every minute.

Every second.

"Anakin, let out all emotions into the Force. There is peace, there is only the Force."

He was suppose to be able to let it go, to sink away and immerse himself, he was suppose to be able to be calm, to be centered. To wash away, to put his life and faith into the flowing waves and tides of tranquility and knowledge. He tried, oh how he tried. He took deep breaths, he relaxed his body, he focused. But there was always, always that feeling that nagged and gnawed. He knew the Force. He could direct it, he could use it to do seemingly impossible things.

But did the Force know him?

"In doing so, the Force will give you calm and alleviate all fears and all doubts. You will exist in the moment, and you will know exactly what to do."

Doubts? Well he had a lot of those. And frankly Master, I don't really believe this is working. Is my doubt a sign of lack of faith, and is that why this doesn't work for me, Master? Why doesn't it work for me? The Force can do anything. Except this one thing—and it's the one thing I need most. I need the knowledge, I need to know what to do, how to fix… Everything, how to fix everything. And I'm suppose to know, I have to know, I'm The Chosen One, the Hero With No Fear.

No fear.

No fear…

And it made him frusterated, angry. And that was what possibly scared him the most. The anger. It scared him because the anger felt good, it felt like control. But it wasn't, it couldn't possibly be, because anger was darkness. How was he suppose to win this war, how was he suppose to protect Padme, if he couldn't control himself?

Padme…

His heart ached every time he thought of her. How beautiful she was. How her smile warmed him, how her skin was creamy and soft, how her hair smelled so sweet, and her voice sounded so musical. His entire being changed when around her. He felt so strongly for her, he would break. She was his everything, his entire life. He would do anything with her, for her. That scared him too. Because he would shatter, break into irreparable tiny pieces without her—he could not dare lose her.

He couldn't lose her, so he wouldn't. He would have to do something, anything soon. He didn't know if he could bear seeing another woman he loved die. He didn't know if he could wait through his anxiety any longer—what if he did something really stupid in his seemingly forced distress? Palpatine would help him, at the very least there was someone who could help him. Palpatine always seemed to make things better somehow, his head was always so much more clear after he saw the good Supreme Chancelor.

What if he did something really stupid…

XXXXX

A/N: I hope you guys can see the Xs, like for a page break. This net can be really uncooperative sometimes. But ah, tell me what you think!

Love your feedback, it makes me write faster!

P.S the good stuff begins next chapter, in my opinion. The real story.


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